Olau
by Fred Dagg
Summary: Late for school, Jamie is 'transported' into a strange new world. Then there's Daniel......


The train was late again.  
  
No great change but if you are late for school as it was, you would feel quite pissed off.  
  
I grab my cellphone in a vain attempt to txt my brother for a ride.  
  
'Yeah, Matt's awake at this time of morning, yeah right.'  
  
Glance at my watch, 8.44, the train was due five minutes ago.  
  
"They should never have sold the railways,' I mutter under my breath as a dilapidated khaki coloured train pulls up.  
  
Flash my train pass at the ticket collector then grab a seat on the empty train.  
  
A bloody strange looking collector if ever you saw one. It looked like he wore a sack under his uniform. He's eyeing me up, as if there's anything to eye up. Heavy tramping boots, jeans and a Black Caps shirt, not to mention my dreads, but hey I like them, they cost me enough to realise if I didn't like them I was well and truly stuffed.  
  
"What ya staring at, mate," I say but he looks away. Out of my bag appears my Discman and I plug the headphones in and listen. Blindspott, sweet. Loud thumping guitars and sharp vocals cut across the racketing train as we enter Ngaio.  
  
There is a shunting forward, a powerful jolt of force, which catches the collector and me unawares. My head jerks towards the seat in front of me. The collector is thrown to the ground as the train is jolted forward with even more force, rocking side to side as a train pulls up beside us. Quake?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* I come to in a copse of trees, the train missing. "This ain't Ngaio." I grab my phone, no signal. 'What the fuck?'  
  
The copse if lined with apple and lemon trees, an orchard. There is a beehive nearby, so this must not be the middle of nowhere.  
  
Picking up me and me bag, I feel blood trickle down my forehead. Clutching my jumper to my head, I stumble towards the beehive. Stupid move any old day, but was I thinking, nope. Going past it I see a low slung building, like at Cobblestones, an old colonial relic from the days before high-rises and in fill housing.  
  
Old fashioned plowing gear is propped up against a fence post, the paddock full of mottled grey horses.  
  
"Who are you," a voice behind me calls out. I turn around, to be confronted be what can only be called a matron is a voluminous dress and apron. "Ah, where am I?"  
  
"Mithros, what are you wearing?" she answers back. "Clothes," I reply, dropping my bag and clutching my head lean against the fence post. "Missy, I don't want to know what sort of trouble you are in, but you are on private property, and if you don't leave now, I'll have to call my husband."  
  
The stout, non descript lady clicked to some collies lying in the sun, who ambled up to her side, quietly watching my movements. "Just tell me where I am, please ma'am." "Olau. Is that all you desire, because I would like to clear off this land." "Where is that? West Coast, Waikato, or what?" "Missy don't you know where you are? Your man must really be hitting you, but that doesn't explain the sorry state of you dress and hair. Looks like you never wash." "Excuse me, I have a blood pouring out my forehead, I think I'm concussed and need medical attention and here you are lecturing me on my personal hygiene. Can you just tell me where I can find a doctor." "My son could show you where to go, but you must never come round these parts again, you hear." "Deal." Bloody luddites where do they think they get off? I need a quack, not moralising.  
  
She called her son, who came out of the house. Now if that guy was in the All Blacks, all the girls would be going after him. Cute, tall with curly dark hair and wearing a shirt and pants, he confers with his mother and proceeds to walk toward the gate. "Thanks for all your assistance ma'am," I call out as I follow the son.  
  
"Who are you," he asks after a while, pulling me out of a mild revere at the rustic landscape, so unlike the hilly city I'm so used to, "Jamie," "Daniel, was does that say on your shirt?" "You can't read?" he shakes his head and I continue, "this says Black Caps and this says New Zealand." "Where is that." "I could ask the same about Olau. Enzed is stuck in the middle of the South Pacific and is a big fat hole." "Oh, Olau is 2 days ride north of Corus." My face must have mirrored my bewilderment because he sort of dropped it, maybe because he didn't understand my spiel. "Just drop it, we both don't know where the other is from." "Have you heard about Alanna of Trebond yet?" Daniel must be a mind reader or something because there is no way I want to even contemplate where I am at the moment. "No" "She impersonated a boy for eight years and then killed the kings nephew after being knighted." "So, she dressed up as a boy and killed a guy. No big deal other then the murder part of it." "You don't get it, women cannot fight, that's what this upstart wants to do, never mind staying at home looking after." Now, he's beginning to annoy me.  
  
Disclaimer: No money is being made to bring to you this you. I do not own the setting of Tortall, Olau and Alanna. I 'own' Jamie and Daniel.  
  
Authors note: Yes this is not that great. I feel the writing is jerky and haphazard. I have wanted to write a story for a while now, and have seriously thought about doing songfics until I realise that I songs I want to use don't have lyrics on the CD sleeve. Please help me to rectify the situation, giving hints on how to write better, and ideas on how to continue.  
  
Thanks for taking the time to read this Fred Dagg Production. 


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